


Survivors

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Angst, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, M/M, Mild Language, Mild S&M, Mild Sexual Content, POV First Person, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:12:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite hoping that he's wrong, Ethan's confident he both knows Will's secret and just what it is he has to do to prove it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survivors

**Author's Note:**

> * Yet again, I suck at summaries.  
> * Please take note of the tags. It's probably... not... what you think it might be, but it certainly deals with the aftermath of a reasonably long-term, S&M tinged sexual assault. Nothing, however, is detailed - but the emotional damage is clear. This said, I like to think it's still a highly... promising... fic.  
> * I don't know where it came from. Nor do I know why I'm fighting the urge to attempt a follow-up fic. (I know why I'm... fighting the urge, just not why I'd be even contemplating it!)  
> * Narrated by Ethan and self-beta'd.  
> * Thanks have to go to my friend for... putting up with my 'I think I'm... squicking... myself' whining and self-doubt, and for not only reading it for me but for also putting my mind somewhat at ease by saying she liked it.
> 
> * Again... *Please* take note of the tags and the above warning.

=========  
Survivors   
by TalithaX  
=========

“Well, we all have our secrets.”

And, accessing William Brandt's records once Cobalt was in the ground and we were back in D.C., I thought at the time that I knew what his was.

Croatia.

A crippling sense of guilt and failure over something, admittedly unbeknownst to him at the time, he essentially had no control over. If he'd reached the decision to break protocol and had told me about the hit squad, I still would have gone for my run that morning and... it... still would have happened. It all being part of a far bigger plan, nothing would have changed. Maybe, content that he'd done the right thing and that, sadly, the death of my wife was now on my head and mine alone, he'd have been able to sleep better at night. On the other hand, maybe it wouldn't have changed anything and he still would have blamed himself for not having spoken up and perhaps, ultimately, his outcome was simply as predestined as mine was. 

We'll never know.

What happened in Croatia, just as everything that followed, is locked away in history. Set in stone, unchangeable, and, regardless of whether we want to acknowledge any of the events or the lingering effects they've had on us or not, forever a part of our memories.

Nothing can ever be undone. Words can't be taken back and actions can't be erased. Apologies can be given, and lines can be drawn in the sand to never look back on as much as to always move forward from, but once the damage has been caused it can never be truly undone.

And if it, the damage, is bad enough, it forever changes you.

“Well, we all have our secrets.”

I thought it was Croatia. In fact, I was positive it was Croatia and, when he both reluctantly and apologetically confessed to that which I already knew, I mentally patted myself on the back for having been right.

I thought that would be it, that I knew Will's... big... secret, and nothing more would come of it. He'd... owned up to his 'sins' and I'd... absolved him. It was out in the open and, having laid our 'secret' cards on the table and accepted that honesty had worked in everyone's favour, we could just move forward.

Only... 

While there's no longer anything secret about what happened in Croatia, he's still keeping something from me.

Something big.

Something that has a hold on him and which I'm afraid is going to end up taking him down if I don't intervene.

I think I know what it is.

The signs are all there. Having been there myself, I should know them. The 'devil may care' attitude, the foolish risk-taking to prove – worth – a point, the borderline alcohol abuse, nightmares, and occasional inability to look people in the eye. Text book symptoms that I know personally and had very much hoped to never encounter again.

I trust my judgement and ability to read people. In my career, I can't afford to get it wrong.

In this case, however, I don't want to be right. I want to have misread the signs and would give just about anything to have my suspicions proven incorrect.

I want...

… Not to be having to do what it is I'm about to set in motion.

I can't just ask because I know he'd only lie. And the reason I know this with the utmost confidence is because it's what, should anyone have actually cared enough at the time to ask me, that is, I would have done.

Tell the truth? Voluntarily? Without some sort of threat hanging over my head?

Never. Not in a million years.

The negatives would have trampled all over any of the... possible... positives.

“You must have asked for it.”

“Why on earth would you be making up such dreadful lies?”

“He's only ever gone out of his way to be kind to you, and this is how you repay him?”

“I'll say this for you, kid, you've got a vivid imagination. Sick, too.”

Even now, now that the bastard's rotting in hell, I still can't see him just willingly confirming my fears. Again, what possible... gain... could there be from it?

Catharsis? A sense of relief?

No. Just more shame, embarrassment and disgust.

It shouldn't be that way, and God knows it's not what I want, but... I'm a realist who gave up on trying to sugar coat the world during my first year with the IMF. Don't get me wrong, it's a great place to live in and I'll fight for the freedom of everyone who lives in it until my dying breath, but... Sometimes it just sucks and there's not a damn thing I or anyone else can do to change it.

I don't want to be having to do this. I really don't. The thought, even though I've made my mind up and just have to open the door to get this particular freak show on the road, makes me sick to the stomach.

But I have to know.

And I don't know how else to go about finding out the answer.

He'll only lie to my face if I ask him. I know that with the same degree of confidence that I know night always follows day.

This way though, I'll have all the proof I need, and...

… Armed with this knowledge I'll just, I suppose, take things one step at a time from there. Too caught up with getting the main, incredibly unappealing hurdle out of the way first, I haven't really put too much thought into cleaning up the... aftermath. Just... What will be, will be. It'll be out in the open and that simply has to be viewed as a start. 

Maybe it could be argued that it's none of my business, that there actually is a whole lot of point to that old 'let sleeping dogs lie' saying. Let's face it, I never told anyone, yet I'm still here. The nightmares go away eventually, constant headaches ensure that the lure of alcohol induced oblivion loses its appeal, and gradually, over time, things just... right... themselves. Life, in other words, goes on.

I made it, so why, if just left in both peace and to his own devices, can't Will?

Because...

I can't just... leave him well enough alone, that's why.

My team. My agent. My responsibility.

If he's going to disobey orders and go flying off simply in the hope of proving his... worthiness... of being a part of the team, then I have to both know what's making him behave that way and put a stop to it. I can't let him go on the way he has been because I'm afraid there'll probably be only one outcome from it. I get it, I do. The constant pushing and gung-ho attitude, the desire to always be on the go for fear of being held captive by the memories if you stop, the unrelenting need to show everyone that you're worth the faith they're putting in you, that you're not just a failure who will inevitably let them down.

I get it all. Again, been there, done that, and am still carrying the mental scars to prove it.

I'll be damned, however, if I'm just going to stand back and watch him get himself killed trying to... simply make it through.

Regardless of the... mess... I'm about to initiate and the damage it in itself is most likely going to cause, I can't... I just... can't... not do anything.

William Brandt is not only my agent, but he's also my friend and someone I, despite only having known him for six short months, just happen to care strongly about. He's an excellent agent with a lot to offer any team and, although it usually takes me a long time to warm to people, I enjoy being in his company.

He deserves to be in a better place than he's in now and he deserves to know that he's far more worthwhile than that bastard has made him believe.

He deserves... closure.

And if this is the way I have to go about offering it to him, then...

So be it.

If he ends up hating me more than himself then I'll still consider my... sacrifice... worth it.

Swallowing the last of the scotch in one meant to be fortifying mouthful, I place the empty glass on the bedside table and, standing up, walk over to the door that will take me out of the bedroom and into the suite's main living area. I feel curiously hollow, and still more than a little sick, but I tell myself that it's no different to being on a mission. I'm doing it because I have to, because the possible consequences of me... not... doing it are far, far worse. That... I just have to get through it and then it will all be over.

I'll know for certain if my fears are correct and, if they are, he'll know that he's not alone.

It...

It'll be worth it.

It has to be.

Standing up to my full height and straightening my shoulders, I take a deep breath, wrench the door open and position myself in the doorway. Benji and Jane being – safely out of harms way – stuck keeping a careful eye on our current suspect on the other side of the city, Will, just as I'd counted on, is sitting in an armchair reading online newspapers on his iPad. He's wearing his glasses, which tells me he's got a headache, and for a split second I almost change my mind.

I don't, however, because I can't.

If this is the path I'm going to travel down, and I've decided that it has to be, then, as we're alone and I've built myself up for it, now is as good a time as any to start.

“Brandt!” I call out in my best 'I'm not in the mood for this' voice. “In my room. Now!”

As expected, Will gives me an odd look as he puts his iPad down on the arm of the chair and takes his glasses off. He's just been... Will – or, if I'm introducing him, William, or, if we're using comms, Saturn – ever since Mumbai, and it's clear from his expression that suddenly having his surname barked at him is an unpleasant shock. “Ethan?” he murmurs inquiringly as, looking increasingly bemused, he gets to his feet. “Can I...”

“Room. Now!”

With my heart hammering in my chest and my legs feeling as though they're in danger of not being able to hold me up, I spin on my heels and stalk back into the room without waiting for an answer. As I would have felt safe betting my life on, Will joins me after only a few seconds have passed and, already looking paler than he did sitting in the armchair, he actually jumps when I slam the door shut behind him.

“Ethan...”

Forcefully ignoring – the fact that I'm about to effectively hand myself the title of Asshole of the Year on a silver platter – the nervous look in Will's eyes and how they keep sliding to the door and the promise of freedom on the other side of it, I fold my arms across my chest and, positioning myself a short distance away from him, coolly look him up and down.

“Strip,” I command flatly, the brusque order sounding both foreign and downright horrible to my ears.

His eyes widening in horror at the thought that – it could be happening all over again – I could honestly expect him to do such a thing, Will gives a quick shake of his head and takes a step backwards. “Excuse me?” he whispers, the instantaneous damage I'm already doing to him coming through loud and clear both in his hoarse voice and dejected appearance. “Ethan, I...”

“Strip.”

“I...” Closing his mouth, Will – waves the white flag of defeat – nods and lowers his gaze to floor. He then pulls his tie off with fingers than I can't help but notice are trembling and rolls it into a neat ball before placing it on the room's small table.

Already having my answer, I could stop him now, but my original plan still striking me as the most logical and irrefutable, I let him go and, feeling sicker by the second, watch as he slowly removes all of his clothing. Neatness being paramount, you don't, after all, want to – further piss off the bastard that's making you do this in the first place – forget the first rule you're ever taught, he folds everything up into perfect squares and places them next to his tie before, without needing to be told, kneeling naked on the floor. Assuming the – second thing you're taught – position of back and shoulders straight, hands behind his back and gaze locked on the floor, he kneels before me, still visibly trembling and with his body fully on display, as I want to simultaneously scream and dig the fucker up who did this to him just so I could personally kill the prick all over again.

Yes, I've been there.

But I was younger, and I always fought. Regardless of it not doing me any good and usually even making things worse, I always fought him.

I never simply gave up and... just... submitted.

To be this... defeated... though, it...

It's worse than I expected it to be.

Far worse.

Swallowing hard, I glance down at his flaccid cock and confirm my... now horrifically realised... suspicions that this is doing absolutely nothing for him. Some get off on the debasement and exhibitionism instinctively, while others have a more Pavlovian response to it and grow hard at the thought of what's to come. Then there are those who just hate it and, despite knowing they don't have any control over it, simply want nothing to do with any of it.

Will, it goes without saying, falls into the last category and I know he'd rather be in a position of having to chew through his own wrist than the one I've currently placed him in.

Telling myself that we're almost there and that it'll all be worth it in the long run, I quickly strip down to my briefs and, on legs that now feel quite literally as though they're made of jelly, walk over to stand directly in front of Will. Feeling no doubt so certain of his... place, he makes no attempt to get away and the only acknowledgement he gives to my suddenly looming presence is a sharp intake of breath. Again, I want to scream but, instead of giving in and losing it, I reach down and, lifting up the elastic around my left leg, murmur, “Look...”

It takes a few seconds for my request to get through the fog of misery in Will's head, but when it does and he's staring at the – physical proof – reason behind my repulsive and offensive charade, a low whimper slips past his lips and he slumps back on his heels. “You...” Whimpering again, he brings his hands from around his back and rests them limply over his groin. He doesn't look up at me though, not even when, having achieved what I set out to do, I back away to give him his space. “Oh God... You too...” 

“Me too,” I confirm softly, relieved that the small brand on the top of my inner left thigh meant what I hoped – having already got this far, that is – it would to Will and that it hadn't just all been in vain. Made by attaching the thankfully meaningless letter X to a device like a cigarette lighter out of a car, he'd burnt it into my – our – flesh as a permanent mark of ownership and, being a sick and perverted creature of habit, I'd been counting on his... predilections... not having changed over the years.

And, of all the Pyrrhic victories, I just had to be fucking right and Will recognised it for both what it was and what it meant.

Which, in turn, at least means that the truth is now out there and somehow, although God alone knows how, we can start on working through it.

Only...

It finally dawning on me that Will hasn't moved and is still kneeling in a slumped position with his gaze glued to the floor, I choke back a sigh and, with more than a few misgivings, crouch down in front of him. “Hey... Will... It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you and you've got to believe me when I say I'm sorry for... uh... this. I'm sorry for all of it.” Lifting my hand, I waft it over his shoulder but, seeing as he's still not giving any indication of paying me any attention, stop short of actually touching him for fear of simply adding to his distress. “Will? Come on. It's okay. You're safe and I... I'm an asshole. Just... Please. You're free to do whatever you like. Get dressed. Leave. Yell at me. Kick my ass.”

And... Nothing.

I plead, in increasingly desperate terms, with the clearly broken form of my friend to show signs of life and he does nothing.

Absolutely... nothing.

If not for the fact I can see his chest rising and falling as he breathes, it would almost be as though he was either quite literally frozen to the spot or dead.

And I was the one who put him in this position.

Berating myself for being such a fucking – self absorbed – idiot, I stand up and, pulling the cover off the bed, drape it tentatively around Will's shoulders. As expected, this makes no impact on him and, after quickly putting my jeans and shirt back on, I sink down on the edge of the mattress and bury my head in my hands.

Just... Fuck.

Now what?

I wanted to help Will, not permanently break him.

“I'm sorry, Will,” I murmur, sighing. “I wanted to know the truth and because I knew you wouldn't tell me, this... this is what I stupidly decided to go with. I... I'll understand if you hate me and just want you to know that I'm so fucking sorry, that... if I'd used my brains or could have my time over again, I... I'd...”

I'd... What, exactly?

Perhaps go with telling him my story in the hope of getting through to him?

Seizing on to this out-of-the-blue idea like a drowning man reaching for a life-jacket, I rest my hands flat on the bed behind me and, leaning back, gaze up at the ceiling. 

“It was my first full time year at IMF after having been elevated from rookie status,” I start, my breath catching slightly in my throat as the full implications of what it is I'm about to do hit me. “He was my team leader then and, as you do when you're young, impressionable, and desperate to please those above you, I looked up to him and wanted to be just like him. For the first couple of missions everything went great. I did as I was told and they were all successful. Then... It must have all gone to my head or something because, thinking I knew better, I ignored his orders and went my own way and, because of my actions, the target got away and a very expensive and carefully planned mission was down the drain. He... as I'm sure you can imagine... was not pleased with my insubordination and... uh... that's when it started...”

Trailing off, I glance over at Will, note with no real surprise that he's still... playing dead, and, with a deep breath, push on. “I... Needless to say I could hardly believe what was happening. He was my team leader, a well respected agent that I'd never heard a bad word against. He was also someone I respected. It... I didn't know what else to do... so I just went along with it. I... was out of my depth and he used my... not-long-from-the-farm... naivety against me. I was young, only just getting my head around liking men as much as I liked women, in awe of IMF and... he had me where he wanted me. And... again... not knowing any better, I just... let... him.”

My own memories threatening to swamp me, I close my eyes for a few moments before, solely because I know I have to, continuing. “Eventually I accepted that I... didn't... have to put up with it and threw myself into doing whatever I could to distance myself from him. I changed teams, took on... truly... impossible missions, and... climbed the ladder away from him. By proving myself indispensable to the agency I not only took back charge of my own life but I also made myself important enough that, despite his own climb up the ladder, he couldn't touch me. It... It wasn't easy and... finding him in the car in Moscow was still enough to... momentarily... take me back there, but I... I... made it and... you can too.”

There's more that I could say. Of course there is. But going through what he did, what he thought was both a good time and a perfectly acceptable thing to do to – no pun intended – someone under him? It's not going to achieve anything. Nor is it the sort of thing anyone ever wants to swap notes on. So...

I'm done. 

I've played my limited cards and can only hope they've done, if not the trick, then at the very least... something.

Anything.

Opening my eyes, I look over at Will only to find him still gazing fixedly at the floor and, with a sigh, reluctantly get to my feet. “I've never told anyone about any of that before,” I murmur, returning to my crouched position in front of Will. “I... Fuck! Will, you've got to believe that I only did... this... to you because I thought I was doing the right thing. I felt that I... had... to know if my suspicions were right and I thought by... showing you the proof that... uh... I'd been there too that you'd be able to... understand my... motivation... I... I know it sounds stupid, especially now, but I only did it to help you...”

Stupid? Fuck me. Stupid doesn't even begin to come close to covering it.

What fucking planet was I on to think this was a good idea?

How would I have liked it, huh, if Luther had decided to try the same spectacularly stupid and ill-advised act on with me?

Actually... As I would have physically fought him off before retreating to higher ground and plotting my next move, that's not an entirely fair comparison. I'm different to Will. If I'd been on his side of the fence in Croatia I never would have left field work and would have simply vowed to myself that something like that would never happen again, that I'd know better next time. This isn't a criticism of Will as people, after all, are all different and react to things in completely different ways. It's just an observation. Be it his upbringing, personality or, I don't know, astrological sign, he feels things far more keenly than I do, and...

I should have taken that into consideration instead of just ploughing ahead with my pig headed idea of what I'd decided was in his best interests and... breaking him. 

“Christ, Will... Just what did that bastard do to you?” I whisper as, throwing caution to the winds, I very gently place my hands on top of the bed cover draped around his shoulders. “Just... What did... I... do to you?”

Suddenly jerking his head up, Will's dull blue eyed gaze meets mine for all of a second before, with no form of warning whatsoever, he tilts forward and slumps against me. Not knowing what else to do, I instantly shift into a kneeling position and, wrapping my arms around his back, hug him tightly. Although he'd have every right to, he puts up no resistance to my embrace and simply rests his head against my shoulder while curling his fingers into the front of my shirt. His breathing is laboured, and I can feel his heart beating against mine, but to my great relief he's not crying and just clings to me like it's the most natural thing in the world.

And, especially as I hardly feel worthy of it, all I can do is – go along for the ride – hug him to me and... babble.

“I... Shit. I'm so sorry. I should have left well enough alone. I never... I shouldn't have done this to you and I'm so sorry. If I could take the past fifteen minutes back I would. Hell... If I could have done anything to protect you from that bastard I would have. Just... Will... Please, speak to me. Tell me to fuck off... Anything. Just... Tell me what you want and I'll do it...”

“Just... Hold me,” Will whispers faintly, his breath warm on my neck as, almost as though choreographed, we shift into a more comfortable, albeit still huddled together, position. “That... That's all I want...”

Not immediately following his logic, I frown and begin to rub slow circles into his back with the palm of my hand. “Are you sure? Don't forget I'm the reason you're...”

“I'm sure,” he interrupts with a small nod. “It's been so long since I've... uh... allowed anyone close to me that... This. I'm happy with this.”

“Of course.” Planting a quick kiss on the top of Will's head, I continue aimlessly rubbing circles into his back and don't push him on his very simple desire to be held because... again... I've been there. When you're feeling dominated and questioning your own sexuality, you retreat behind a lonely, closed off wall and it takes a lot, a hell of a lot, to get you to venture outside of its safe and secure confines. Offering yourself to someone comes with the... unacceptable... threats of perhaps not being able to go through with it or, worse, inadvertently stumbling across something even more horrific than you've reluctantly become used to, and, for a long period of time it's just a risk you're not prepared to take.

Minutes tick slowly – yet far from unpleasantly – by as I hug Will to me and he gradually calms down to the point of feeling fully relaxed in my arms. The floor not being the most comfortable place to remain sitting on though, I eventually decide the time has come to make a move and, all the time keeping a gentle hold on Will's shoulders so he has little choice but to shift with me, climb to my feet. As I'd hoped, Will follows my silent prompts without hesitation and, with the bed cover still clutched around him, he shuffles over to the bed and sinks down on the edge of it. He then, with a shy look, swings his legs up on to the mattress and waits until I've joined him on it before resettling himself against me and, with a contented sigh, resting his head on my chest.

While I may not be any the wiser as to why exactly he's so obviously comfortable with me, I'm not complaining and, stretching out, half propped up by the mound of pillows behind my back, along the mattress, I drape my arm around Will's shoulders and continue to just hug him against me.

“Maybe... I don't know... Maybe I didn't hear your correctly,” he murmurs, closing his eyes, “but... You did this for me? Why? I don't...”

“While I'm now firmly convinced that I went about it entirely the wrong way,” I state softly, cutting him off, “yes... I did it for you. Watching you these past six months I've been seeing...” Trailing off, I sigh and tilt my head back to gaze up at the ceiling. “Me. I've been looking at you, Will, and I've been seeing... the me... of twelve years ago. You've been pushing yourself too hard and taking too many risks and... I was just afraid that you'd end up getting yourself killed if I didn't try to do... something.”

“Oh... I... I was just wanting do whatever I could to try to prove to you, to the whole team, that I... could, that I wasn't just along for the ride or whatever and that I actually, if you could all see through my flaws, belonged,” Will replies haltingly as, his fingers discovering a gap in my shirt front where, in my haste to get dressed, I'd missed a few buttons, he rests his hand warmly against the bare skin of my chest. “I thought that if I was... showing.. everyone that I was... capable... that I'd be allowed to stay and wouldn't be sent away to yet again start all over from scratch. I... I've already lost friends because of... him, because all I had was work and... pretending that what was happening wasn't really, and... That was it. Liking it here with the three of you, I didn't... I don't... want to have move on again and have just been trying to... prove my place in the team.”

“You're more than capable, and of course you can stay,” I respond, keeping my eyes locked on the ceiling because I don't want him to catch sight of the tears I can suddenly feel threatening to well in them. For me, it was all a long time ago. Sure, I can remember it. All too clearly, in fact. But, as well as can be hoped for anyway, I'm over it now and have been for years. For Will, however, it's still almost as though it all happened yesterday. The doubt, self-loathing, disgust and constant fear that this really is how it's always going to be from now on. Couple that with the resigned acceptance that, for whatever reason he's using, he's got you where he wants you, and... You're just a mess. “I just didn't want you to do something that would get you killed,” I add quietly. “You're already enough a part of the team that I couldn't bear the thought of Benji's over the top mourning or Jane's complaining about having to train a replacement, and... uh... I really wouldn't like it either. You... fit in well with us, and you've got to believe me when I say you'll always have a place here for as long as you want it, that... nothing's going to change that.”

“Thank you,” Will whispers with a dry snort. “This is going to sound pathetic, but that's just about the nicest thing anyone has said to me for a long time. I... Hell, this is going to sound pathetic too, but... seeing as you're being honest with me, I just want you know that the main I reason I... complied... with your... order... earlier was because I hoped that... if I just went along with it... it would help me in my bid to be able to stay...”

And... Look. There it is again. That dreadful sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that, for today at least, I really am King of all Assholes.

“I... I'd never do anything like that to you,” I murmur, blinking back the tears that seem determined to spill from eyes as the hole I've dug for myself seems to grow ever wider every time Will opens his mouth. “To... anyone, actually. I couldn't, and... Fuck! I'm sorry. I never should have...”

“It's okay. You did what you felt you had to do, and I... did what I felt I had to do,” Will interrupts matter-of-factly. “You didn't... force... me and, whether you believe me or not, I actually weighed up the pros and cons before... submitting.”

“Only... There weren't any pros...”

“To me, there were. You couldn't be worse than... he... was, I was used to it anyway, and if it was going to be what it took to allow me to stay, then I was prepared to go along with it.”

“I...” Goddamn it, this is hard. “I should have just come out and asked you instead of...”

“And... Just as you knew I would, I would have lied,” Will states, talking over the top of me. “ You could have gone so far as to shove that awful fucking mark in my face while I was just sitting in the armchair and, while, yeah, it would have shocked me, I still would have lied through my teeth...” Pausing, he sighs softly and begins, I suspect unconsciously, to stroke my chest. “What you did... It took guts. I don't think I could have gone through with it myself, but you did... and it worked. You made me... realise... that I couldn't just lie or continue to ignore it and... What's done is done.”

“I'd still understand if you hated me and could never forgive me...”

“Maybe he was right and I am easy, but liking this position I've found myself in, you're already forgiven,” Will replies. “That, and I don't think I could ever hate you. We're... Well, it looks as though we're just too similar...”

“Fucked up?” I offer drily as, the threat of tears having been successfully avoided for the time being, I lower my head and look down at Will. “If, of course, you'll excuse the irony...”

Opening his eyes, Will looks up at me and somehow finds the energy to dredge up a wan smile. “Well and truly fucked up,” he counters, “but... We're still here and... he's... not, so that's got to count for something.”

Nodding, I quickly decide that as it had no adverse reaction last time that he must be okay with it and plant a soft kiss on the top of Will's head. “Oh, it counts for a lot. And... Use me as a guide if you want, but you'll get there, you have my word for it.”

“If you'd said that to me this morning I probably wouldn't have believed you,” he whispers, closing his eyes again and, as though suddenly exhausted, resting his hand flat over my heart. “Now, however... Let's just say I'm feeling a lot more hopeful.”

Getting the picture that this is taking more out of Will than he'd been letting on, I simply murmur, “Good,” before allowing a thankfully comfortable silence to fall over the room. Each of us lost in our thoughts, I focus on the quiet sound of Will's breathing and mentally cross my fingers that he really is okay and that he's not still just... going along with me because he thinks it's what I want and what, in the long run, will help him get what he wants in terms of feeling as though he belongs.

I was younger, more – arrogant – resilient, and I was always going to fight whatever the cost. With me though, I think the... power play... was purely sexual. Too determined to win, again, regardless of what it cost me career wise, mind games never would have worked on me. At very first, given that he was my superior, there was the... doubt... that perhaps I should just go along with him because, really, that was my place in the grand scheme of things, but even that didn't last long. It was wrong, I didn't like it, and if he was already too protected and 'destined for greater things' in the eyes of the Powers That Be, then I simply had to throw myself into getting away.

Which is what, with blinkered determination, I did.

I got away, I never looked back and, because I knew it would bring me undone, I never thought about him simply moving on to the next... victim. Again, blinkered, I know. Selfish, too. But you just do what you've got to do. There's nothing I can't do when I put my mind to it – this afternoon's horror show being a case in point – and I think by the time I was the youngest agent to have ever been allocated his own team the bastard even respected me in his own, warped way.

Will, however... While I'd never accuse him of being weak – he's still here and still fighting, after all – he's different to me in that his actions are far more... thought-based. And I can't help but feel that if the bastard had applied the right pressure... mentally... to Will that it would have caused him to crack both far more thoroughly and more quickly than the traditional 'get down on your knees and open your mouth' method ever would have. The physical side of it is one, entirely horrific, thing, but, the thought of having him in your head is worse. One, takes place over a relatively short period of time, while the other is simply... constant.

Speaking for myself here, I'd take... mouth... over... head, any day. At the risk of sounding blasé, it's not, let's face it, as though there's a mouthwash equivalent for the brain.

“He had me at the first time and he knew it,” Will murmurs, the sound of his voice shocking me almost as much as the fact it's almost as though he'd been reading my mind does. “It was in the conference room, you know, the main one on the eighth floor. I'd just been given the position of Chief Analyst and, as we'd be working closely together, it was our first meeting. He... He drugged my water. That is, I think he must have because I remember everything going hazy and the next thing I knew I was coming to and that I was...”

“Will... You don't have to...” In fact, please... Don't. Just don't. I can already imagine it well enough without having to hear it.

“I know I don't have to, but... I want to. Actually, no. I don't want to, but... Uh... What I want you to know is... why... I didn't... Why I... couldn't... fight...”

“He was a cunning, manipulative bastard, that's why,” I retort thickly, the hatred he's still capable of generating in me even though he's long dead coming through loud and clear in my voice. “Listen to me, Will. You don't have to...”

“No... But I'm going to,” Will responds with a sigh. “So, please... Just let me get this out and then we don't ever have to speak of it again.”

“If it's what you want...”

“It's what I want.”

“In that case...” Hit me with it. Seeing as I'm the one who started this, it's not as though I've got any right to try to shut him up anyway.

“When I came to, my first thought was that we had to be under attack, that somehow there'd been a security breach at HQ and... you'll love this, you really will... my instant concerns weren't for my own predicament but for the safety of the Secretary,” Will mutters as, suddenly rolling away from me, he sits up and, drawing his knees to his chest, buries his head in his hands. “Then, when my vision finally cleared,” he continues, his voice muffled, “I saw him standing in front of me and, although I was naked, tied to the chair with my own tie and had a gag wrapped around my mouth, I still couldn't quite get my head around what seemed to be happening. I mean... It just doesn't, right? Okay. We've all had the training that explains it's a very real threat out in the field, but... Inside HQ? And... the Secretary? It just... didn't make any sense to me. But... There he was... Looking me up and down while he felt himself up through his suit trousers, and... Oh God!”

His voice catching in his throat, Will gives a desperate shake of his head as though he's hoping the abruptness of his movements will dislodge the memories permanently before, with a gasp, climbing hurriedly off the bed and, with the bed cover still around him, going to stand by the window.

“Will...” Swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress, I sit up but make no move to go over to him. “It's...”

“He didn't even have to threaten me,” he murmurs, his wide eyed gaze flicking momentarily to mine before sliding to the floor. “By the time he'd finished his... little talk... I knew that he was right, that I was where I belonged, that I... deserved it.”

Okay. To hell with taking the softly-softly approach. As much as it pains me to admit it – and, again, I appear to have been right when I really, really wish that I wasn't – I don't think there's anything I could do to Will at the moment that would make his pain worse anyway, so...

Standing up, I walk over to Will and, although he immediately tries to back away, grab him by the shoulders and pull him against me. “Just... Shhh... You never deserved it, and... Shhh... It's alright, I've got you...”

“I deserved it,” he whimpers as, all the fight leaving him as quickly as it had materialised in his token attempt to get away, he gives up – period – his grip on the bed cover and slumps naked into my arms. “He told me that I was a failure... A failure as a field agent... That it was my fault Croatia had been a fuck up... That, as a complete failure, I... deserved... what he was going to give me, that... it was all I was worth. Because it was all that I knew at the time, the blood of your wife was on my hands and... I'd caused IMFs best agent to go off the rails... and it was lucky that I still had a job because I was... a waste of training, of resources, of... everything! I... I was also lucky that he had a use for me at all and... and he just hoped I wouldn't fail him in that respect either! I... Oh God... By the time he'd finished I would have done anything to have proven to him that I was at least good for... something...”

My ability to speak coherently – as opposed to launching into a perfectly futile rant that wouldn't achieve a fucking thing and wouldn't make me feel any better anyway – deserting me, I hug Will as, keeping his eyes screwed tightly shut and his fists balled against my chest, he throws everything he's got into not crying. Cruel mind games on someone that was already hurting and doubting themselves. I knew he was a bastard, but this, really, was a whole new low even for him.

“Come on, Will,” I murmur as, at long last, he relaxes just enough to unball his fists and curl his fingers into the fabric of my shirt. “You're not a failure and you didn't deserve any of it. He was just... unfortunately... good at what he did and he honed in on your weak spots, but...” Seizing on a sudden thought, I shift my hand from behind his back and gently cup his cheek in my hand. “When we first met in Moscow, I didn't look at you and see a wreck, so... even with that bastard breathing down your neck you'd still obviously been able to pull yourself together...”

“Work,” he mumbles, leaning slightly into my touch even though he doesn't lift his head to look at me. “I threw myself into work and although he never praised anything I did, others did and I came to accept that I was... good... at what I was doing. Missions were succeeding largely because of what I was able to get through to the teams and... not long before Moscow, actually... I'd even gone to Lyon for a two month stint at Interpol because they'd been so impressed with the work I'd done on a joint mission between the agencies, so... Just because I'd... failed... in Croatia didn't mean I was a... complete... failure, and I... I took strength from that. It didn't stop him from trying to bring me down at every given opportunity or from... indulging... in his perverted games, but... Things, they got better.”

“And... now?” I prompt, wanting to stay on the positives in preference to slipping backwards. “He's gone, it's, in one way at least, over, and you're here with a team that wants you and values you, and...”

“And I'm having a naked, just in case it's escaped your attention, breakdown in my team leader's arms,” Will finishes with what sounds suspiciously like a muffled, embarrassed laugh as he finally lifts his head and meets my gaze. “So... Yeah. Now things aren't weird at all.”

“Oh! Sorry!” Immediately seeing how, yes, this definitely could be viewed as awkward, I make to immediately pull back from Will but he stops me by both keeping his eyes locked on mine and sliding his arms around my waist.

“I said weird... Not unwelcome or wrong,” Will murmurs. “Well... Not to me anyway.” Frowning, he stiffens and hesitates over pulling free. “Ethan, I...”

“If it's okay with you, then it's certainly okay with me,” I interrupt with a smile that's as genuine as it is meant to be reassuring. “But... If you want to get dressed, or...” An idea, random at best and almost quite... alarming... that I'd even think it, suddenly raising its head, I blink, swallow, and whisper, “Whatever you want... Will, what... do... you want?”

Cocking his head to the side, Will contemplates my... rather open-ended... question for a few moments before smiling hesitantly and stroking his fingers down the side of my cheek. “While it's been a long time since I've... felt up to... thinking about what I might want, if... I could have anything, it would be... I...” Dropping his gaze, he blushes slightly and sighs. “I'd like a friend, possibly even, although I don't know why anyone would want me, a... lover, that I didn't feel as though I had to keep any secrets from and who I knew I could... trust... with anything, but... I... I'm not delusional and I don't expect it, so...”

Spotting an invite that I hope I'm reading correctly and that I'm not just about to ruin everything, I use the hand I've still got cupped around Will's cheek to tilt his head back and quickly, before common sense can step in to possibly stop me, lower my lips onto his. To my – beyond – heartfelt relief, he welcomes my kiss without any sign of hesitation and returns it both passionately and eagerly. It shouldn't, and it would be an understatement to say anything as amazing as this was in the back of my mind when I started down this path, but it feels so... natural... that I almost want to pinch myself to confirm that it's really happening. 

He's naked, more damaged than I expected, and most likely in need of more than I'll ever feel capable of giving him. Yet... At the same – logic, who needs it? – time, so undeniably fucking special that I don't want to ever have to let him go and already know that what we share transcends the... similarities... in our history.

Breaking the kiss more for reasons of needing to take a much needed breath than waning interest, Will blinks very blue eyes at me and places his hands on either side of my face. “You don't have to... pander... to me,” he whispers, his blush intensifying. “I've made it this far without having anything in particular to... face each day for, so... Please don't think you have to...”

My lips brushing across the tip of his nose silencing him, Will bites down on the corner of his bottom lip and looks at me with a mixture of hope and nervousness on his face.

“What would you say if it's what I... wanted too?” I query, trying to soothe his concerns with both a smile and a kiss to his forehead. “No secrets... Someone who understands...”

“And is... just... always there,” Will offers just a touch breathlessly. “Ethan, I... Are you sure? If you're not and am only doing this to...”

“You're sure,” I state with a grin as I glance down at the... proof... I can no longer ignore bumping against my thigh. “If you weren't comfortable and... wanting this... as much I am, you wouldn't be...”

“I...” His expression shifting immediately to one of – carefully trained into him – shame, Will looks down at his erection as though he'd been too caught up in everything else to even feel it and, with a strangled gasp, pulls back from me. “Sorry! I... I don't know what's wrong with me...”

And, well I never, here's yet more fucking insidious proof that the job that was done on him was an exceptional one.

Now... I can either snatch up the bed cover and drape it back over him and go for yet another stroll along the 'soothing route', or...

I can offer a prayer to any deity bored enough to be watching this sad and sorry performance and... just hurl myself into the deep end.

“There's nothing wrong with you,” I declare as adamantly as I dare to given the wary, fearful look in Will's eyes. “Or... If there is, there's something wrong with me too,” I continue, brushing my hand across the fly of my jeans and the bulge of my own erection – granted, the circumstances were far from ideal, but I had a very attractive naked man in my arms and, hey, I am only human – pressing against the denim. “You... Contrary to what he tried to do to you, you're normal, Will, perfectly normal and if this is what you want, what you... really... want then, look, I do too. I want you because I care about you and because you're special and desirable, and... even if this could be the worst possible thing I could be saying right now... incredibly sexy...”

“Sexy?” Will echoes in a tone of voice that's thankfully more curious than revolted. Scowling, he looks down at his body and pulls a face at his still hard cock. “You can't mean that.”

“I do,” I confirm, taking a step, just one, mind you, closer to him. “You're very sexy, but... The choice is entirely yours. Let me... help... you, or... just go and have a shower and...”

“You really want... this?” he queries, gesturing at his cock and looking as though he still doesn't believe he has the right to be... freely... feeling this way.

I shake my head and take another small step forward. “No. I want all of you.”

“You can't.” He shakes his head and shoots me a dejected look. “There's no reason you'd...”

“Do you want me?”

The... plainness... of my question grabbing Will's attention, he opens his mouth to most likely protest before simply shutting it again and nodding. “I want you so badly that I'm... back to wanting to offer you anything... just to touch me,” he murmurs plaintively. “Ethan, please... I'll beg if that's what you...”

“No begging,” I state, cutting him off as I slip off my shirt and, once I'm certain Will's watching me, reach for the fly of my jeans. “You never have to beg for anything and... you never need my permission either, not for anything you... feel or want to do. Do you hear me, Will? We're equals. You're equal to me every step of the way and I'll do whatever you want me to in order to convince you of this.”

“Anything?” Straightening his shoulders, Will takes a deep breath and, walking up to me, reaches for my fly. “In that case, I think these need to go, don't you?”

Nodding, I place my hands on Will's slim hips and murmur, “Be my guest,” before, because I'm already confident he likes this and that it's a safe move on my behalf to make, capturing his lips for a moist kiss. Being nothing if not a fast learner, Will accepts that I'm separating the purely physical from the passion and the... raw... emotion of the moment, and, at the same time as he succeeds in getting my jeans and briefs down around my knees and my cock gripped tightly in his hand, returns the kiss as eagerly as he did before.

It having taken both so long and so much pent up emotion to reach this – unexpected yet exquisite – point, it only takes a few blissful minutes of hands roaming freely over smooth, warm flesh, mutual masturbation and the sensation of our cocks rubbing together, while the seemingly never-ending kiss ensures our lips and tongues are just as occupied, to reach climax in glorious unison. While I can feel mine through every fibre of my body, Will's clearly leaves him feeling weak at the knees and it's nothing short of a miracle that I notice in time to get my arms under his and am able to catch him as starts to go down.

Gently hauling him back up, I smile at the vaguely dazed expression on his flushed face and kiss his cheek. “Hey there...”

“Hey there,” he repeats, blinking at me as, not knowing what to do with his sticky hands, he wafts them aimlessly around his sides as a flicker of doubt presents itself in his eyes.

Wanting to nip what I suspect to be coming next in the bud before the bastard's... training... once again rears its ugly head, I grab Will's hands in mine and, pressing our palms together, entwine our fingers. Yes, it's sticky, and, yes, it's messy, but it's nothing to ever feel ashamed about and definitely isn't something anyone should feel compelled to instantly clean up because they've been taught to believe that it's both... dirty and yet another... failing.

“Shower?” I murmur as, yet again grasping just what it is I'm doing, Will squeezes my hands back and flashes me a grateful smile. “In fact, how does this sound... Shower, followed perhaps by a short nap, and then... dinner in the restaurant downstairs?”

His smile broadening to become a thing of sheer beauty, Will nods and leans forward to steal a quick kiss. “I'd like that,” he replies simply “You... have no idea how much I'd... really... like that.”

I wish that I'd been wrong and that Will had never been hurt, and I still can't help but wish I'd gone about things a little differently earlier, but...

This outcome?

It being proof that good... is... capable of coming from bad, I'm going to – thank my lucky stars – grab onto it with both hands and never let go.

~ end ~


End file.
